


The One Ring

by laEsmeralda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early in the quest, on the road to Rivendell, the Ring presses its advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Ring

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to Libitina, my faithful beta, who inspired this POV. The story was written and first posted in November 2003.

I have felt you look at him when no one else can see that you do, for I observe always. He is my lovely, my plaything, my keeper of the moment. I would seek harder to escape him, but for his unwitting caress. He is a new acquisition. He resists me always, yet ever feels my touch. He fears me but loves me already, and I am far from finished with him.

Frodo will protect me from others who would hoard me in lonely wilds and not return me to Master. He is afraid, yet he goes with you to do the right thing. He has spirit the others did not have, and I will enjoy breaking him more. I have not the time I need with Frodo to persuade him not to let me be destroyed. But I will have my effects.

I languished quite long enough with Gollum, and played long enough with Bilbo, who kept me nearly too well. This young one is softer, his skin more electric, his thoughts more interesting. Since I left his pocket, I am ever on this chain, sliding over his flesh, feeling the beat of his heart and the damp of his sweat. I am beginning to burn him, but only just.

You, Aragorn, whom I will destroy, I love, for you will take me to Master. I have been away too many years, and Master longs for me. If anyone can see me home, it is you. You do not yet hear me call your name, but you are human and there is enough time.

Perhaps my wraiths will find us first. I will help them, but not too soon. Before I go with them, I must reach Rivendell. The Nazgul do not know where we go, they are too blind to predict, and are overeager. If I did not misdirect them from time to time, they would unknowingly thwart my plans. I cannot tell Master, or show him, only draw him where I go. Our spies have never penetrated Rivendell, and it will be my triumph to enter, to hear, and to influence.

I enjoy this journey in your company, for I have not had the pleasure of a human since Isildur. It is delicious that you are his kin, that you doubt yourself so. That you think you have rejected what I will give you. I have always loved having a human. Your kind are so malleable, so open to me. Master would reward me with a human from time to time, but they do not last long and he is jealous. I have been lonely in the hands of nonhumans for many hundreds of years, and now, at last, there is you.

Aragorn, you do not know the lust that I am growing in you. You think yourself chaste in admiring Frodo, protecting him, saving yourself for she who waits for you. I know from the murmurs of others that Frodo is beautiful, beyond ordinary measure, yet that will not move you. He wants you, but he will not tell you without my influence. In the end, he cannot resist me as I push where his heart goes, and you cannot withstand the two of us together.

He thinks of you touching him. I feel it and coax him to reach for himself, to strengthen the bond, but he fights me, ashamed. Ashamed of what you would think should you ever know. He is so innocent. Not untouched, nay, this I know of him. But he is innocent in his heart. He listens to you sing of doomed love, and wishes to ease your sadness. He is drawn to help, to heal. A weakness I will exploit. 

Pity, you will not have to force him, Aragorn. Before I am finished with you, though, you will hurt him with hatred of your own lust, and he will find that he will beg you for that rather than not have you at all. He will allow the pain and see your desire for it, where he would prefer love. 

Frodo will no longer be innocent, he will know that evil deeds can be so gratifying as to overcome love, patience, and courage. You will loathe yourself for how good it feels and later, for how you have ruined him for all time. Then, you will be mine, for I will promise you redemption. My true intentions will not matter to you.

For now, I must rest, and wait, and find a way to distract his almost-ever-watcher, that Sam, that meddler. For at hearing Frodo's first sound of pain, before enough damage is done, Sam will kill you.  
*******

You awoke early today, your arms full of sleeping hobbit. I enjoyed your astonishment. I enjoyed your arousal more. 

I made him afraid, in the night. When he instinctively thought to you for help, I quieted, driving him to want the arms of Strider about him. He fretted for some time before making his way to your blankets, flushed with the fear of embarrassment. 

I stayed quiet, letting him believe that your presence makes him safe from me. I could not intervene to keep you asleep. I could not touch you, for he remained clothed. If I had called to you to sleep more deeply, you would have recoiled. But you trust Frodo, you are so accustomed to him, that you hardly noticed when he curled into you and fell asleep in your warmth.

You certainly noticed him this morning. Your body betrayed you even before you awoke. When you felt it, I thought you might fling him away with an outcry, humiliate him before the others, and I vibrated with the wish of it. That awakened him, and when you saw those sleepy eyes, full of trust, it undid you. So much the better. An opportunity to humiliate you both is better.

He touched your face, which I did not expect. I cannot see all lines flowing from each action, only most. Your hand covered me then, clasping me to his heart, and the jolt that passed through me was extraordinary. I postponed my other plans. I felt your kiss begin, your lips stroking his, opening him to you. His want, naked want from this creature who never asks for himself, was so great that for a moment, I could sense nothing but his hammering heart.

Frodo could not find his breath, and the ache within him was delicious to me. He kissed you again, pressing himself the length of your body, revealing to you both the hardness of each. I found myself suspended between your hearts, needing to do nothing but feel your mutual anguish. You could act no further on your desire without notice from the others beginning to wake in the light of dawn. Both your thoughts raced to the right and wrong choices and the consequences of each. I found that the prospect of shaming you paled in comparison to prolonging this agony.

Too soon, Frodo took your hand and kissed the palm, before rolling away from you into the cold morning.  
*******

An opportunity. Sam feels unwell. Frodo has attended him, tucking him in extra blankets despite Sam's protests, and has sat by until the meddler sleeps. The younger ones do not have the same constant instinct to watch, they are silly, and they play cards by the fire while Frodo follows your path, leaving them with an excuse that he helps you to gather enough wood for the whole night's fire. Sam would never allow this, and I quiver at his absence. The early evening is foggy and dim, but he finds you soon enough with my help.

When you see him, alone, you seem as though you might shy away. This will never do. Where is my bold warrior? Perhaps my timing is premature.

"Strider," Frodo's voice is small and soft in his unsurety, "I am sorry if I did something wrong this morning, I do not know the ways of your people. I was caught off guard, just waking, and did not think."

You struggle for a moment to find the right words, to be kinder, but your voice is harsh. "I do not know what brought you to my bed, Frodo, but it was I who first moved to touch your lips. It was my trespass, both to you and my beloved." 

Always willing to take the responsibility. That is why your pain at hurting him these next moments will be exquisite. 

You clear your throat in discomfort, setting the bundle of sticks down and kneeling before Frodo, sitting back on your heels. You think you do so to make yourself smaller to reassure him, but I know better. 

He speaks before you can. "Fear brought me to you. I knew I could sleep if only I could feel you close." Frodo pauses, flushed and afraid to go on, but he does. "Your kiss was no trespass to me, only something I have desired for many days now. I am sorry that it pains you. I wished no harm."

"Knowing now that there is harm, Frodo, would you do it again, coming to me here?" I wait, thrilling, hearing underneath the anger that there is invitation in your voice. I amplify it, and he walks the few steps to you.

"I find I cannot help myself," Frodo whispers, "now that I have tasted you, I cannot stay away."

You are on him then, and you crush him with your swordsman's grip, but he answers with open lips and no resistance at all. The softer he is, the angrier you are at your own response, and I am singing with it. Frodo moans as you bite him hard, marking his flawless skin over and over with your sharp teeth. You are tearing his clothing, and he is helping you, until he is naked and shivering in the chill.

I feel then with triumph that the sight of him, freezing and beautiful and completely aroused, will cause you to strike him down and force your way over and into his body as hard as you can. These visions tear through you, weak human, you can see the bruises and blood and hear his pain in your mind, yet you throb harder with it. I have you. You know in this moment that you are capable of it because he has given you cause, he has asked for it. I am burning him now, and he will not stop you.

Frodo reaches out a hand toward you, a tiny gesture that ends his passivity. Something shifts in you. Impossibly. I fight back, and my spell breaks. Inexplicably, I am still singing, for currents of fire are running through me. You take that hand and close your eyes in relief. With the other, he wipes tears from your face. Then, he presses you back, and you relax into the earth at his gentle command. 

Frodo falls to his knees now and caresses your chest, straddling you, his fingers going to the laces of your shirt. I am bewildered, thrumming with heat and helping him be bold enough to continue. He slides the cloth away from your skin, following with his lips. You are panting now, the tears still running, down over your temples, soaking into your hair. You barely move, as he slides down your body. Soon, your breeches are gone. Frodo's mouth covers you, and you groan, your hands burying themselves in his curls.

"Frodo," you grit out, "stop, I must tell you that I nearly..."

"Shhhh," Frodo raises his head to hush you, "You did not. It was the Ring." I vibrate with his mention of me, he never speaks of me, even when others do. His hands are busy teasing you, evoking more delicious noises of surrender, and I find for the moment that I am not disappointed. He speaks again. "I understand that you are angry with yourself and with me, for this--it is not what you planned. It senses that, and exploits it. But I am still stronger, and so are you. There may come a time when that is not true." 

I am gratified by his admission.

Frodo returns to stroking with his tongue until you shudder and clutch at the grass beneath you. Somehow, I share these waves of pleasure, and I know that the writing etched upon me is glowing. He stops just in time, before you lose yourself. He crawls up until he crouches against your chest, now bared to him, and you feel him hard against you. You marvel that he is not smaller, but you have no time to act on your impulse, for he is kissing you, and at long last, I brush your face, dangling from the chain.

It shocks me, this first feel of you, Aragorn, Strider... Estel... and another still yet to show himself... I suddenly know that you are not who I thought you were. There is less of Isildur and more of something else. I must ponder this.

Then, Frodo does something utterly new to my experience. He leans over, drops me in your mouth, and kisses us both. Your answering groan is somehow sweeter than the sounds of torture I have caused during my existence. 

This being, this halfling, has such absolute love in him, it is a power to rival mine. For that, _with_ that, I will tear him to shreds from inside out. Slowly. Later.

In this moment, I am returned to Mount Doom, to the place of my making, to my first consciousness of pure gold. I have not been scarred with dark writing. An elf is cooling me in ent-draught. I do not yet know the bath of festering blood they will leave me in for months.

I cannot feel Master. I can only feel your tongues swirling about me and into the space I contain, the chain clicking against your teeth. It is a glorious sensation. I hear your moans, together, and soon, Frodo's peak rushes through us both, his essences spurting over your chest. Your hand goes to find your own need, and you follow him quickly, soaking his back. Your mouths are still connected around me, muffling your cries so the others do not hear. The harmony moves me, and I add my voice. But it is a different voice than the one I know, and I lose consciousness in the shock of it.  
*******

I am awake again. I do not understand what has happened. I hear you dressing one another with gentle movements and dividing the pile of sticks between you. I feel Frodo walking back to the fire, his exhaustion heavy. He drops his burden, and before Merry and Pippin's eyes, you guide him to your blankets, covering him before stepping over to check on Sam. 

"He is afraid, Merry," you explain, a truth. "I cannot watch each night entirely without sleep, for we have far to go. I think it best that he take his rest where I can most protect him."

"Good idea," he replies cheerily, "don't know why it didn't come to us before." 

I sense that the other small one smiles in agreement. "Sam won't like it," he says, "but we'll make him see."

You take off your boots and settle in, drawing Frodo's back to your chest, smelling yourself on him. He is already fast asleep. You worry about what this night means, and Arwen will soon know. Frodo sighs and your thoughts turn back to the marvel of him. You cradle us close, and I feel you relax.

I must go quiet and meditate on Master's wishes. There is time another day for torture.  
*******


End file.
